


Abana and Marrock

by Roronoa_93



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sorcerers, Tags Contain Spoilers, supernatural/ fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roronoa_93/pseuds/Roronoa_93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having a day where everything that could wrong does, Samantha gets a visit from her Father's solicitor and inherits her Father's legacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abana and Marrock

The pitter patter of rain against the window was like a metronome of depression. It was another example of not being able to trust the weatherman on the news. So much for the day Samantha had originally planned. Though the weather had little to do with that, it just didn't do anything to lighten her already dismal mood. That morning she'd expected her boyfriend to show up at her door, flowers at hand and bounce in his step at their year long anniversary. Did that happen? Did it fuck. What she got was a phone call with him saying something along the lines of "I've found someone better, I think it's time we should split".

The bastard.

Samantha leaned her head against the cool window, her dark brown explosion of curls acting as a cushion as she looked out to the people running down the street to get out of the rain. Her normally hazel eyes were red from tears, her full lips hadn't stopped trembling. She sighed, looking at the clock she noted it was 6:15pm, she decided she should probably eat something... not that she had any appetite. She grumbled as she looked through cupboards, giving up when she realised her last cup-o-soup had been eaten already. Slamming the cupboard door closed she grabbed her waterproof jacket and braved the rain to get something quick from the shop on the corner.

The moment she stepped out she knew she should have just ordered a pizza or something, but since she was outside already she may as well continue on. The wind blew the rain into her face, stinging her eyes and making it hard to see anything. A breath of relief passed her lips as she stepped through the door, at least here it was warmer than outside. She grabbed some instant noodles and some well needed comfort food in the form of ice-cream and chocolate. As usual the face of the man behind the counter was trapped in it's ever present scowl, he took her money with a sneer and threw her change into the general direction of her hand. It dropped mostly onto the floor and Samantha was pretty sure he only did it so he could see her bend over for it.

Could this day get any worse?

As it happens, she found it could. On her short walk back passing cars seemed to aim for her as they sped through puddles, soaking her to the bone. When she stepped through the door of her flat her hair was so wet it stuck to her scalp and her waterproof coat, it seemed, wasn't entirely waterproof. Throwing her bag of shopping on her kitchen counter she stomped into the bathroom for a warm shower. She stopped as she stood in front of the mirror, maybe it was just the damage of the rain, but she looked terrible. Her cheeks looked sunken, her copper skin looked a shade paler than was healthy and her eyes... Her eyes looked sad, lifeless. Shaking her head she peeled her sodden clothes from her skin, leaving them in a heap on the tiled floor. As she stepped under the hot spray of water she felt all the troubles wash from her body. Water cascaded down over her, the heat bringing life back to her skin. She washed her body and hair before stepping out and looking at herself in the mirror again. Life was back in her already, though her eyes still held a note of sadness. She walked naked across her flat to her bedroom, her ample breasts bouncing lightly with each step. She dried her hair with a hairdryer, somewhat happier when her hair finally fell in its usual chocolate curls. She put on an oversized t-shirt that reached halfway down her thighs and mini shorts that showed off her pert bum if she bent over. She wore no underwear.

She sat on her bed, her instant noodles eaten and her slowly melting icecream halfway there. She'd been sat watching random things on Netflix, her eyes drooping and on the verge of sleep when a knock at her door made her aware of the outside world yet again. Pouting in annoyance after checking the time. 9:45pm, better have a bloody good reason for disturbing me.  
Opening her door she was met with a overly tall man. She had to look up to see his face, which isn't something she often had to do at 5"10. He had white, but tanned, skin and chiseled features, a straight nose and not too thin lips. His summer green eyes  hidden behind prescription lenses were soft. The man was dressed in a suit and held a leather briefcase in his hand. 

He had to have the wrong flat number.

"Miss Samantha Abana?"

Damn

"What is it you want? I was busy" 

"Yes, I can see that," He smiled, "Before we get any further I'd like to let you know you have something..." he tapped the side of his mouth

It took a second for Samantha to pick up on what he meant. She quickly covered her mouth realising she had ice-cream on her face and ran inside to get a tissue, leaving the door wide open and giving the suited man an almost full glimpse of her buttocks as she bent over.

That, he thought, was almost worth the reason he was here.

Clean faced she returned, a quiet blush forming across her cheeks. "Ahem... Now, why are you here?" She leaned against the door frame, arms crossed under her breasts, suddenly aware she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Actually, I come being the bearer of bad news... May I come in?"

Though Samantha didn't know what bad news she could be getting she stepped aside and allowed the man entry.  
He looked around. It wasn't exactly a large space but it wasn't cramped either. Here or there he noticed there were paintings and photographs, from what he'd been told about her these were probably hers. Samantha Abana, an freelance artist that worked in a coffee house downtown that displayed her work and paid her extra money when the work was sold. According to notes she was also dating the son of some business tycoon. Too bad, he thought, that she's already taken. He thought back to when she opened the door, annoyance burning in her big hazel eyes and what looked like ice-cream dripping from the corner of her plump, pouting lips. It was almost torture to know he couldn't lick it from there himself.

She sat casually in an overstuffed armchair, her smooth legs up so she was half kneeling, half sitting. He perched on the edge of the loveseat that had seen better days. He made a point of looking at her face, any lower and he may forget why it was he was here in the first place.

"So, what is this bad news?" She asked

"I'm afraid I must be the one to tell you your father has passed."

There wasn't much emotion that passed her face, though when she spoke there was a tremble,

"When did this happen?"

He pursed his lips before continuing, "Last month. According to your mother-"

"That woman is not my mother." The venom in her voice shocked him,

"Your Step-mother apparently tried to tell you sooner. I'm sorry to tell you you've also missed his funeral."

Tears threatened at her eyes but did not fall.

"I'm here to give you what he left you in his will"

Here the tears did fall, silently, almost eerily. 

He opened his briefcase, inside there were three things. A photo album, a Leather bound book with an intricate lock and key, and an old box sealed with something like wax engraved with strange symbols. All this came with a letter, he tried to hand it to her but she shook her head, 

"You read it," her voice trembled, "I couldn't read it through the tears"

"Alright," he cleared his throat, he watched as she sat up straighter and then he began to read,

_"My Darling Daughter, I'm sorry I married such a bitch, and I'm even more sorry it took me until my deathbed to figure it out. Here I leave you my legacy, memories of lives that have been before and still continue. The photo album I leave because I know you miss your mother, who died when you were in such need of her._  
The tomb and Box have been passed down in my family for centuries, they hold many secrets and as such must be kept hidden. I trust you will know what to do with them.  
With love in the next life, Your idiot father"

He looked up from the letter to see a dozen emotions fly across Samantha's face before it finally settled on grief.

"My condolences" He nodded to her before standing to leave,

"Wait" Her quiet voice pulled him to a stop, as well as her small hand on his arm. 

"At least let me know your name, don't solicitors like yourself have a business card or something?"

He delved into his breast pocket and took out his business card he went to give it to her before pulling back and writing something else on it,

"Just in case" he smiled at her and then left.

She looked down at the card, smiling slightly despite the news she'd just received. Typed on it was just the name "Lyall Marrok".  Written on it, however, was his phone number.

She shut the door behind her quietly and put the business card on the coffee table with the Tomb and Box. She put her hands on hips and looked at them both. she knew what they were, what the passing of them entailed. Her father had told her such things when she was still a child. She unlocked the Tomb and began to read, for to protect them meant to use them. She felt it's pulsing power with every page she turned, understood every ancient word.

She was Samantha Abana, Artist, Coffee House Employee,  _Sorcerer_.


End file.
